


I Promise

by alex4968



Category: Dunkirk - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Flashbacks, Letters, M/M, Religious Mentions, angsty, drowning scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex4968/pseuds/alex4968
Summary: Harry has a promise to keep and a pair of arms to go home to. [Loosely based on the drowning scene from Dunkirk's trailer. ]





	

**0300 hours**

The air is crisp and sharp, stings against his skin as he brings the cigarette to his mouth. The smoke is bitter in his mouth, but it’s a weight against his tongue that reminds him he’s human. Moments like this are the ones he needs that reminder; when breathing just isn’t enough and each beat of his heart feels like just another moment closer to death, rather than a reminder that he’s still living.

“Chilly night.” A voice cuts through the silence and it startles Harry enough to make him jump. Malik notices, he always does, but it’s the kind of thing that only Malik would ever be able to notice about him. He knows well enough by now that Malik doesn’t have the expectation for him to respond, nor does he want to engage in a real conversation, but rather he just wants to enjoy the presence of having a non-threatening figure beside him. He can relate, he thinks, and it’s one of the few reasons that they’ve bonded so well over their time away from home.

The other man brings a cigarette identical to that of his own to his lips, sucks in a deep breathe and exhales the white cloud of smoke into the air around them. It’s symbolic, Harry thinks, because if it was really that easy to inhale the toxicity of life and exhale it just as quickly, none of them would be here. So that temporary moment of harboring on the line of keeping himself alive and holding in the cloud of smoke is enough. It’s enough to remind him of his own mortality.

He won’t admit it, but that’s a reminder that he needs more often than not.

The two of them sit in a comfortable silence for longer than they should, until Harry’s watch shift is long over, but neither of them are really in the mind set to sleep. Sleep brings demons that are too cowardly to show their faces in the day, so Harry avoids them all the same. He knows Malik is the same, hears his screams and muffled cries. He hears them from many, but no one talks about it. They’ve all experienced the end of the world to some degree, watched their best friends die right in front of them and watched men who didn’t get the chance to watch the end of the world unfold in front of them lose the light in their eyes as God took it into His hands instead.

Harry puts his fourth cigarette of the night out on the bottom of his shoe and stands without a word. Malik gives him a look that Harry understands to be their form of silent communication – a way to say goodbye without really having to say the words. Those are the words no one really wants to say, but everyone wants to say all the same. He thinks about saying it to everyone every day because if he doesn’t he might never have the chance to, but it’s not enough.

He’s never written it to Louis in his letters, so he thinks if anyone were to deserve his final bid goodbye, it would be no one but the other half of himself back home.

 

**0900 hours**

“You’re home.” Louis says with a strong embrace, the shorter boy jumping up to wrap his arms properly around Harry’s neck with a grip that tells the tale of how long they’ve truly been apart. The feeling of his skin against his own is what has kept him going all of the months they’ve been apart, it’s what’s kept him going through everything he’s seen in his time in the Royal Army and it’s always been hard, but he’s always had a home to return to. “I’ve missed you so, so dearly.”

They’re sheltered, hidden away from the crowd away from the wondering eyes of the curious wives who have nothing better in their lives than to cause a scene about who Harry loves. “I’ve missed you too, my love.” He whispers, like any elevation of his voice’s volume would pop the safe bubble they’ve created around themselves. It’s always safe and warm when he’s with Louis – the demons don’t dare come near him when they’re together because Louis’ light shines too brightly and they can’t handle it.

“Let’s go home.”

 

He’s not awoken with the same gentle whispers he sees in his dreams that night.

Instead, it’s by screaming. He startles awake faster than he ever has – so quickly that his eyesight is splotched by black floating dots and the world feels like it’s spinning a bit faster – and the screaming is deafening.

As soon as his head stops spinning and he’s able to realize which direction is up, he’s on his feet and darting towards the direction of the screams. There’s four men holding another down, keeping him still as he screams. There are tears streaming down his face and scratches and bruises decorating the faces and arms of the men holding him.

“Admiral,” One of the men says as soon as he realizes his presence. “He’s – he’s been like this for about an hour now, sir. It’s only getting worse.”

“Give him a shot of morphine.” Harry says softly, voice wavering. He knows that there isn’t any physical pain this man is experiencing, but the demons have chased him into the daylight and that’s when they’re the most powerful. “It’ll put him to sleep and hopefully calm him for later.” It’s the only thing they can do out here when morphine is the drug of all trades.

As soon as the order is given, the needle is in his arm and the screaming goes quiet. His mind does, too.

 

**1300 hours**

The first death of the day takes Harry by surprise. It’s a quiet day until that point – but something about the way there was nothing before that moment had felt suspicious. He’d been on watch with seven others – always taking initiative enough to know his place, to be there to protect his women. Woods was in the middle of a sentence when the bullet whizzed through the air and created the perfect stream of blood that dripped from the center of his forehead down the lines in his mouth and poured down his chin.

Head wounds bleed the most, Harry’s brain said. He can’t be dead. Three more words left his mouth after the bullet ended his life, but the rational part of Harry knew it was normal for brain activity to continue for a moment after sudden death; God’s way of taking the soul gently, without ripping it from a body too suddenly.

“Move!” Harry’s voice cut through the shocked silence of their camp, “Get down!” He shouted and watched as bodies moved. It was a blur of motion and he couldn’t really tell which ones were falling because of his order and which ones were falling out of death. He shot six shots, hidden behind a mess of sand bags and trees, and watched as bodies dropped on the other side of the battle field, too.

“Sir!” Malik’s voice said from beside him. “The – the navy general is here. He’s said they’re going to bomb the area and need us to evacuate.” Malik is his second in command and he trusts him with everything he has in his soul, so he just nods.

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

“We have to.”

“Hope is a weapon, Malik. Let’s use it wisely.” His friend’s smile is wide and clearly hopeful, so he decides to trust him. “Move, towards the boats!” He shouts to his men and signals with his arms for all of them to move to the beach, to take that final breath and run, run, run with every last ounce of strength they have left in them. They have nothing to lose, but nothing to gain, either.

They run.

Harry shoots his gun blindly as he goes and continues to do so after he’s on the boat. It’s frantic and unsure, but that’s how his brain feels. Something about it feels right, to just survive in every way he can manage without a clear end in sight. He thinks, maybe, that he shouldn’t be the one in charge when he gets these kinds of thoughts, but then there’s voices and shouting and the boats are being guided away from the beach.

 

 **1700** hours

The sea is quiet and the sky is painted a lovely shade of pink as the sun begins to descend beneath the horizon. It’s peaceful, quiet and calm as they’re all sat on the main deck of the biggest ship. The navy was the one branch of the military he knew he could never have joined, though, because the sea is too overwhelming. As the waves crash against the bottom of the boat, the ever-present feeling of uncertainty that comes with war is only made more obvious. Beneath the waves lays only one thing: certain death.

He stuffs the last bite of his dehydrated meal into his mouth and takes a few steps away from the railing around the deck, unwilling to meet that fate.

He pulls out his notebook and a pen from the bag slung over his shoulder and sits against the nearest surface as he writes.

_Louis,_

He stops there – always unsure how to tell Louis what he needs to say. There’s so much he wants to say and so much more beyond that that he feels his other half needs to know, but it’s never enough. Every touch of ink to the paper has always felt like it’s not enough to fill in the gaps of time they spend apart.

_Tonight, we’re with the navy men. There was an attack at the beach that came before we planned and we were taken out by sea. I am all right, as is Zayn. The days until I see you again are getting smaller and I hope you know how much I cannot wait until I am home with you again. I love you dearly._

_\- H._

He slips the letter into an envelope and writes his home address on the front. It gets placed back in his bag, where it will stay until he is back on land and someone comes to collect the letters they all send home every so often.

Sometimes he wonders if Louis really gets all of them or if it’s fruitless, but he’s never bothered to ask. Sometimes the letters are for Louis, to remind him that they will be together again soon and to update him that he is alive. Other times, they’re for him. Those are the times when Harry just has to remember exactly what it is he’s fighting for and that he does have a home to return to.

He’s not sure what tonight’s letter was for, but it leaves him with a sense of peace nonetheless.

 

**2100 hours**

There’s fire in the sky and Harry’s heart is pounding in his chest. Fear has forced every ounce of his strength to his legs as he runs to yell at his men – _get to the life boats, get to the life boats!_ The words don’t really feel like they’re coming from his mouth, but they’re just there, echoing through the metal coffin they’re all about to end inside of if they don’t get away.

He’s not ready to die. He can’t die. He has to get home.

Another explosion hits only a few meters from where he’s standing and his ears are ringing as he stumbles and then there’s water – wet and cold and his head is still spinning and his ears are still ringing.

He goes under for a moment. It’s entirely dark and cold but at the same time – it’s the biggest reminder he’s ever faced that he’s not ready to die – that his mortality is clear and he could die at any time.

“Styles!” Someone shouts out from somewhere when he resurfaces and he shouts out something that sounds a bit like _here!_ But he can’t really tell. His lips move and breathes come, but the waves are crashing around him and pulling him under.

He resurfaces again and he’s able to look around. He can’t – there’s no one around him. There’s shouting from a distance away and that’s his only beacon. He swims – adrenaline keeping his muscles strong as he goes, forces himself _forward, forward, forward._

“Styles!” Someone shouts again – Malik.

“Malik!” He shouts, and then there’s more frantic shouting. He see’s a smaller life boat and keeps going, keeps pushing himself. Each wave that crashes against him feels like it sets him back another kilometer, but he keeps on. He can’t stop now, can’t let himself stop now.

There’s a loop of Louis’ name in the back of his head as he goes and goes and swims forward harder than he’s ever moved in his life.

  
Finally, he reaches something hard. His hands grip the edge and he goes to move himself up, but then he’s back in the water and the waves are around him again and he can’t breathe. “This one’s full!” Someone shouts when he tries again, shoves him under harder. He doesn’t give up – refuses to give up.

“Let me –“ Then he’s pushed back again and something – something hard smacks him in the side of the head and his fingers feel a bit numb. Everything is a bit fuzzy as his head is back under the water – and then he feels warm.

 

“Hello,” Harry says to the blue eyed boy behind the counter, “Would you happen to know where I could find a copy of this?” He shows a piece of paper to the boy, scribbled in Zayn’s handwriting with an author beside it. It’s a book he’s been meaning to read for a long while, something Zayn had said was important to him and he thought everyone needed to read it. But the thoughts of the book were almost entirely gone as soon as he met eyes with this boy. He looks maybe a few years older than himself, thick rimmed glasses about his eyes and the butt of a pen in between his white teeth.

Harry seems to distract him though and the pen falls to the counter with a clashing noise. He looks at him for a moment, blinking a few times before – “oh, yes. Yeah, of course. Um.” Then he’s standing, coming out from behind the desk and ushering Harry to follow him.

There’s a book that’s fallen to the ground that Harry sees before the clerk does, but by the time the warning is coming from his mouth, the boy is already tripping over it and landing on the ground with a groan.

“You all right?” He asks, reaching an arm out to help him up. He takes it quickly and then they’re standing close enough that Harry can see the specks of darker blue inside of the beautiful lighter blue.

“I’m. Yeah. I’m fine. Thank you.”

 

Suddenly he’s not in the bookstore anymore, but rather he’s driving down the country side road he used to love driving on, and Louis is in the seat beside him. The air is warm and the wind is blowing in through the rolled down windows of his car. “Harry?” Louis asks, turning to look at him for a moment.

“Yes?”

“Can we stop here a moment?”

“Of course.” He pulls over to the side of the road, green grass surrounding them on every side other than the black line of road. His eyes are on Louis as the boy undoes his safety belt and crawls over the center council to sit on his lap.

“Kiss me.” So he does. He kisses Louis softly, his arms wrapped around his boy’s waist and holds him close. It’s short, but it’s wonderful. Louis pulls away with a blush high on his cheek bones and honks the horn when he does, making both of them laugh.

“You’re incredible.” Harry says and they kiss again, a little longer this time, but Harry’s certain that right there is exactly where he belongs.

 

“Mum.” Harry chokes out, sitting on her couch as she brings him tea. “I have something – I really need to tell you.” He says, holding back his tears.

“You can tell me anything, sweet heart. What is it?” Her voice sounds sincere, but he’s terrified. He knows there’s the chance that she’ll reject him –  he’s a fully grown man, but god that would still hurt – but he can only hope she won’t.

“I’m gay.” She pours a bit of milk into his tea as well as her own, then adds one sugar cube into her own before she sits beside him. She’s silent, but her face hasn’t hardened.

“I know, Harry. I’ve known since you were a child, I think.” She sighs softly and pulls him into a tight hug. “God won’t have anything against you for this, love. He loves all of his children and I know you’re going to be fine. But you know that many others won’t be accepting of you, right?”

“I know, mum.” He sighs, laughs a little just because it feels incredible to have that weight away from his shoulders. “I found a boy. He’s – I love him and he loves me, I think. It’s been nearly a year now, of us being together.”

“I’d love to meet him, whenever you’re both ready.” He smiles again.

 

He’s wiping away Louis’ tears before he knows it, bright blue eyes staring up at him with red rims. He knows his own eyes are a little watery as well, the idea of having to leave him behind is so much harder than anything else he’s ever done. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.” Louis says. His voice is wrecked and high and he holds on to Harry like he can’t bear the idea of letting go.

The gleam of a ring on Louis’ finger catches Harry’s attention again, like it always does, and it makes his heart hurt. They can’t get married, never will be allowed to, but Harry had still gone and bought them rings anyway. They have to take them off when they leave the house, but it’s just – it’s so important. It makes his heart hurt, too.

“I promise.” Harry responds and it’s an entirely empty promise because he _can’t_ – he can’t make that promise – but he does anyway. “I love you so much, baby.”

“I love you too.” He slips his ring around the chain link of his cross necklace and kisses Louis again. They part after that, the idea of a goodbye much too permanent. Harry watches him as he goes, watches him as he leans against the door frame of their home and watches him in the rear view mirror as he drives away.

Driving away from Louis is the most painful thing he’s ever done.

 

He gasps as his head comes back above the water. His eyes are sore with the salt and he’s coughing. He swallows a mouthful of the water on accident and gags with it, chokes against the taste and swims again. He’s not sure where he’s going – he’s not sure there’s even anywhere left for him to go – but he can’t give up on his promise. He promised Louis he would get back to him, and he’ll do anything in his power to keep it.

The sound of airplanes flying above it all he can really hear and the sun is completely below the horizon. It’s pitch black and he can’t see anything except a few light beams coming from another boat. He pushes himself again and before long there’s a pair of arms wrapped around his, pulling him aboard and he passes out.

 

When he wakes up, he’s somewhere in a hospital. There’s an oxygen tube in his nose and some kind of tube strung to his arm with a needle on the other end. He’s tired. But then he looks over to see Louis sitting there, reading a piece of paper in his hands. His eyes are rimmed the same red they had been the day he left.

“Louis.” He says and his voice sounds hoarse.

“Oh, God.” Louis says and he’s sobbing harder. He’s sobbing so desperately that Harry wants to hold him and never let go, wants to kiss away each of the tears that plague his usual sunny glow, but he feels the wetness of tears adorning his own cheeks. “Zayn sent – he sent your letter. I thought.” His voice cracks and it’s so clear that he’s thought this over a hundred times, thought about him being dead. It’s devastating, but Harry hadn’t really thought he’d live, either.

Zayn comes into the room, then. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I thought – we made it to base and you weren’t there for a few days. I just. I – assumed.” He can’t meet Harry’s gaze, shame likely keeping him from holding eye contact.

“It’s all right, Zayn. I’m here now.” Louis hugs him tightly and they hold each other for a long, long while. “I’m never leaving you again, Lou.” Is all he says.

Louis’ grip tightens, and that’s all the acknowledgement he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading – and if you _really_ enjoyed this story and want to support your local fanfic author, you can [buy me a cup of coffee!](http://ko-fi.com/A237HRB%20)


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